


Mutually Beneficial Pleasure

by writtenthroughtime



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, NSFW, Smut, tumblr post inspiration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 19:31:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6766963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenthroughtime/pseuds/writtenthroughtime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on: Imagine him looking down at you from this angle.  Don’t bother asking me to leave.  I’ll just show myself out.  Bye. </p>
<p>Image of prompt can be found here: https://writtenthroughtime.tumblr.com/post/143956898350/fromheretoeternity1121-imagine-him-looking</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Disclaimer: This story has not been edited.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutually Beneficial Pleasure

“Claire—” he trailed off looking down at me. His eyes full of lust. 

“Let me, Jamie. Let me take care of you.”

I looked up at him in what I hoped was wanton and sexy, but probably was ridiculous. He let out a shuddering breath as I unbuckled his belt and let his kilt drop to the floor. 

An incomprehensible slur of Gaelic came from him as he clenched his eyes shut and threw his head back, his hips bucking at the slightest touch. 

Slowly, I dragged a fingernail from base to tip, causing even more exclamations in Gaelic to flow from him. I leaned my head against his thigh, blowing ever so slightly against his ever hardening erection. His right hand started to twitch and tap against his thigh by my head, brushing against my hair with each twitch. 

I added a second, then a third finger nail dragging them in an unpredictable pattern along his length. Pausing at the tip, teasing with the lightest of touches, then more forcefully down to his scrotum, digging in adding a slight tinge of pain to his pleasure which only increased his haggard breathing, and disjointed speech. When he least expected it, I kissed the tip him. 

Looking up, I kept my lips still and slightly parted, waiting for his reaction. He didn’t disappoint. 

As I dragged my nails back up, I let my tongue peek out and taste him. 

His eyes flew open and his hand planted itself deep into my curls, holding me tight against him. 

“Christ, mo Sorcha!” 

Smiling, I kissed down the length of him, letting my fingers play in the opposite direction. Up and down, kiss and drag, I kept up a slow rhythm which drove him to insanity. 

His stomach clenched with each movement, and his legs began to wobble. I wasn’t sure if he would be able to stand much longer. 

I guess he had had enough, one second I was kissing my way back to the tip of him—letting my tongue trail along my path as I went—the next he hand me shoved against the wall, roughly throwing my skirts up. 

His speech was husky and in Gaelic. English had failed and left him, I had driven him beyond his capabilities to comprehend anything but the pleasure in which he was experiencing. From the quick, disjointed words that I could make out I heard him say, “too much… your turn… can’t be gentle… want… love…too much…I love you.”

And he wasn’t, gentle that is. He was in me as soon as my skirts were slightly out of his way, and set a punishing pace. I gasped in pain and pleasure as spikes of fire emitted from my core. 

He began kissing up and down my neck at the same pace as his thrusts. I threw my head back, buried my hands in his hair, and wrapped my legs tight around his waist. 

“Mine…Mo Sorcha… Mine… Always… Can’t get enough… Can’t stop.” 

His Gaelic became so heavily accented from his emotion and exertion, I couldn’t make out anything else he said, but it didn’t matter. 

This was how it was supposed to be, passionate, raw, full of love. He was doing everything he could to make sure I felt as much pleasure and love as he did, and my heart grew even more with each tender caress of his hand, kiss of his lips, and powerful thrust of his hips. 

He was mine, and I was his. 

“I love you.” I whispered into his ear, and took his earlobe between my teeth, giving it a slight tug. “I love you and I’m yours, always.”

I could feel him smile against my neck, after he kissed and licked the spot he knew would drive me wild. I clenched around him and felt his thrusting become erratic. 

“Let go, my love. Let go and take me over with you.”

He grunted and shook, spilling himself within me. I couldn’t help but shudder in pleasure from the feel and the knowledge that I brought him to this point—driven him so mad with love and lust that he didn’t care where we were or how we were dressed, and gave in. 

He cupped my head and slid us down to the floor, still connected. Each breath he took caused a slight thrust and a jolt of pleasure to consume me. 

“Tha gaol agam ort, mo Sorcha.” He said breathily and placed a tender kiss to my forehead. 

“I love you too, Jamie.” I felt him smile against me yet again. I shifted to cuddle into his chest, basking in the feel of our love making, and felt him grow hard again. 

My eyes widened.

“Christ, Sassenach!” he exclaimed. “What have ye done to me? I canna seem to ever get enough of ye.”

I wiggled again, causing him to groan. “Nor I you. Jamie?”

“Hmm?” He murmured against my skin, already trailing kissing down my neck, ready for round two. 

“This time, no clothes please.”

“Aye, mo ghraidh.” He laughed, and began picking at the laces behind me.


End file.
